A Day in the Life
by Darling Pretty
Summary: Just another day at the Jeffersonian for Cam Saroyan. Still, when there are skeletons on the table and possible skeletons in the closet, this day could prove a rather long one *Kind of spoilery*


**So this is not my first story on this site, not by a long shot. Technically, it's not even my first Bones story, but my old one is a crossover currently rotting on my hard drive, unfinished. Bones is literally my favorite show on network television, but here's the thing: writing Temperance Brennan scares the living daylights out of me, so I've avoided it. Then, earlier today, I was watching The Boy with the Answer and I realized that Temperance Brennan isn't the only voice on that show. And that I might not be able to write **_**her**_**, but I thought I could do some sort of justice to Cam. So of course, I'm terribly nervous about it all.**

**Why this decided to be in first person, I'll never know, but I don't think it's terribly out of her voice… Not too badly anyways. You're welcome to tell me otherwise, of course.**

**And I'd like to dedicate this to my dear friend, Kate, mostly just to guilt her into reviewing. And for having like the exact same taste in television as me. Late birthday gift or really early Christmas present. Take your pick. Happy beginning of school?**

**I don't own Bones, but all the spelling errors, grammar mistakes and out of character moments are all mine.**

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><p>I knew it was going to be a rough morning when my phone rang at 3 am. Do you know exactly how hard it is to wrestle a sheet away from your sleeping boyfriend, get out of bed without waking said boyfriend, and get across a room in only said sheet all in time to pick up a ringing cell phone? Maybe you think I could have done without the sheet, but we were at Paul's place and I'm not nearly comfortable enough to run around naked there, so the sheet had to come with me.<p>

In any case, I got there in time and glanced down to see Angela's name displayed on the screen. I sighed as I picked up; I've gotten used to these sort of calls. "Your husband loves you, Angela," I said before she could get into her problems. "Hodgins loves you, you're a wonderful mother, you've nearly lost all the baby weight and you're not fat, and you most certainly do not still have cankles." Best to just head her off at the pass and cover everything she might have to say. "Not that you ever did," I hastily amended, just in case she caught my slip-up.

"_Not_ Angela, Cam," Hodgins said and I could hear the snigger in his voice. Really, that man is the most insubordinate, stubborn, rude man I've ever come across and I will confess I wouldn't have it any other way. "But I take it she's called you then?"

"Just a few times," I replied, purposely being vague. The exact count is fourteen and that's only since the beginning of this month we aren't halfway through yet, but I didn't want to cause any undue problems over there. It's not as if a new baby isn't enough stress. "Why are you calling from Angela's phone, Hodgins?"

"Booth called and asked me to call you. I didn't really get it, he was mumbling something about reception being horrible in the boonies and shooting alligators between the eyes. There might have been something about Deliverance." I got a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach; I knew exactly where this was headed. "I couldn't find my phone, so I took Angela's. Anyways, apparently there's a case."

There's always a case. I guess I should be thankful, since it comes with being the best and it pays the bills, but really, is it too much to ask that one night go murder-free? No, that would be asking too much of the human race. I'm sorry; I tend to get snappy when I don't get enough sleep.

So then it's out of bed for real this time. At least I've started keeping a few pieces of clothing at Paul's, so I didn't have to go home before the crime scene and lab. Can you imagine the comments if I showed up in yesterday's clothes? The only people I could count on to _not _remark on it would be Dr. Brennan and Dr. Edison. But Clark isn't the intern of the week and Brennan… Well, Booth is trying to make her more of a people person now, so I can't really count on her either. In any case, it's just nice to have a drawer.

When I arrive, Booth's already there with Dr. Brennan and they're already bickering, which is pretty much the normal state of things now, but I'm sure they'll be fine. They have to be; after all, without Booth and Dr. Brennan, we'd all have nothing. And they do love each other, even if Dr. Brennan is going to have to learn that her baby _is _half Booth's and she's not going to make all of the decisions alone. If you ask me, I think Booth feels guilty that he wasn't a bigger part of Parker's raising—even though he was there in every way Rebecca would let him be—and he's scared of making the same mistake with this kid, but no one asked me, so I'll just keep that opinion to myself.

The crime scene is indeed out in the boonies and I can see why Booth was grumbling. It took me nearly an hour to drive here and he's not happy Brennan is trudging around in swamp water, looking at a skeleton over her swelling belly. It's not even half encased in flesh, so there's not much I can do here. The skeleton isn't half encased in flesh, that is. Not Brennan's belly.

Booth is one of the most observant people I know, but sometimes I don't think he can see past the end of his nose. For whatever reason, he's completely missed the fact that Brennan is freaking out. Every time I see her, she has her nose in some pregnancy book or other and if she's not reading, she's asking Angela questions. I'd tell her that she's trying to hide behind the knowledge, but she'd just tell me she despises psychology and then deny that anything is wrong at all. Besides, who am I to judge how she handles this?

Anyways, today's argument is a biggie. I hate when they're actually arguing and not just bickering. "Religion is nothing more than superstition, invented by cultures to explain phenomena and create a system of reward and punishment so the members of a society will follow its social norms and mores!" Dr. Brennan quarrels, examining the skull. "There's evidence of blunt force trauma, but I'll know more once we get back to the lab."

"It's more than that," Booth insists. "It's a foundation, a community! Cam, wouldn't you want your kid to have a community?"

Oh boy, here we go. "Hey, I have a daughter and I have a hard enough time getting her out of bed before noon on the weekends. Still, we go to church on Christmas and Easter."

"There, you see!" Booth exclaims happily, even though I just said essentially nothing.

"Christmas and Easter is hardly a community, Booth!" she insists.

I roll my eyes and start examining the body while they continue bickering. I'm well aware that my job isn't exactly one people are jealous of, but I love it. Yes, I have to have a stomach of steel, but I could never give it up. To know that we're actually doing good, that we're putting bad guys behind bars, well, it feels good. Better than good.

We get the body back to the lab. Hodgins beat me from the scene and Angela is there by now and today she's brought Michael. That's a pleasant surprise. Okay, I know, I know, it's completely girly and cliché, but I love babies, especially this one. Angela has already told me that when he's old enough to talk, I'll be Auntie Cam and, I'll admit it, that almost made me cry.

Besides, there's so much weight attached to this little boy that he'll never truly understand. He's the one saving grace of a case that could have destroyed us all. Losing Mr. Vincent Nigel Murray, it shook us; it shook our faith in what we do. We knew our job was dangerous, especially after everything that happened with the Grave Digger and Heather Taffet—an entirely different subject that I'll never be able to discuss rationally, so please don't ask me to—but with her out of the way, we thought, I don't know, I guess we sort of thought we were untouchable. And Mr. Murray, taking a bullet that was meant for Booth, simply because he answered a cell phone… It proved we weren't. It proved we were just as vulnerable as we thought we weren't. And again, those were _my _people Brodsky was messing with, _my _friends. I was the boss and I was supposed to protect them, even though they're all adults and can handle themselves. But they are_ my_ responsibility and they are _my _people. And I failed them. Before I came to this job, I didn't think I could hate. I had seen horrible, horrific murders that would make even Brennan a little queasy and I didn't lose myself in the process; I had dealt with awful rapes and suicides and things that made me want to crawl into a cave and just weep for the human race, but I still could find good in most people, I was still open to love. I hadn't become hard and dead inside.

And then I came here to the Jeffersonian. And the good I do here and I've found here outweighs the bad by tenfold, but I found out I am capable of hate here. I _hate _Heather Taffet for screwing with my people and I _hate _Brodsky for taking Mr. Vincent Nigel Murray and my never-ending well of ridiculous trivia, and I hate Gormagon for taking Zack. Oh God, Zack. We're not going to talk about him now. I can't.

So anyways, I go right over and pick Michael up from his stroller. Brennan holds back, as usual. It's funny, she's actually really good with kids but she doesn't know it with her usual confidence. We pass Baby Hodgins around and all exclaim over how big he's getting, but eventually all remember that there is a murder to be solved.

"Cam, can I talk to you?" Angela asks as I'm about to head for the platform. "In private?"

I frown. There isn't much flesh, but I should get started on what there is. Still, something in Angela's voice tells me this is more important. "Sure."

The second we get into her office, she starts babbling in that very Angela way of hers. "This is confidential right? I mean, it's like doctor-patient confidentiality, only we're friends, so that makes it even more sacred, right? Because I know what I'm going to say is ridiculous but I don't know what else it could be so I'm just going to come out and say it, even though I know it's crazy because I know I'm wrong, but I just don't know, you know? It's so hard to know when you don't know what you know, you know?"

It's going to be one of _those _talks. "Angela, I won't tell anybody," I assure her. "And unless you're about to tell me that Martians are giving you commands through your hair clip, I won't think you're ridiculous. What did you want to talk about?"

"I think Hodgins is having an affair." It takes me a minute to understand that's what she's trying to say, her words come out so fast.

I blink. I don't think there's ever been a marriage quite as solid as Angela and Hodgins'. "Um, why?"

"It's just… he's been secretive lately. And he comes home late. And when he comes home, he's already eaten and he's not hungry and we… we don't have sex as much anymore."

I almost laugh but then I remember myself. See, here's the thing: Angela's birthday is next month and Hodgins is planning a huge, romantic weekend in Paris filled with all of her favorite things. Michael is just old enough to be left alone and yours truly will be babysitting. Yours truly has also been helping to plan said weekend over completely unromantic dinners at the Royal Diner, where Hodgins has confided he doesn't want his wife to think he's a complete cad for thinking about sex so soon after the baby.

"I think it might be one of the interns in paleontology," she adds helpfully.

What is it with paleontology? As I recall, that was where Naomi, the subject of so many of the questions that made Booth threaten to shoot Zack between the eyes, worked.

Zack's a tough subject for all of us, tougher than the Grave Digger and Brodsky combined. Because here's the thing: the guy became the apprentice of a cannibalistic serial killer. And we didn't stop loving him. That's the kind of thing that should at least make you question how you feel about someone. But none of us did. He's _Zack_. Formerly King of the Lab, now King of the Loony Bin. Zackeroni. I called him that when I first came to the Jeffersonian, and people probably thought it was a power play. It _was _a power play. I had been brought in over their heads and I needed at least _someone _to like me. And then I ended up really and truly loving them all. But before that, I just needed some support, especially with the looming flesh vs. bone battle I was constantly fighting with Dr. Brennan. Not that their loyalties ever swayed far from Brennan. I'm glad they didn't; they wouldn't be my people if they had.

I try to visit him at least once a week, but it's gotten more difficult now, what with Michelle and Paul and all and now I'm down to every other week. It won't be long until my visits are once a month. But I'm not going to lie; the place gives me the creeps. Still, it's better than jail and I would rather have Zack there, he seems happy enough. Poor Zack. There's no one in the world that's smarter than him and no one more naïve. I miss him. We all do.

I shake myself out of this reverie; Angela is waiting for an answer. "Angela," I say patiently. "You know Hodgins would never cheat on you. I'd be happy to talk to the head of paleontology if you'd like, but you have to talk to Hodgins. He's a good guy; he's _your _guy. And maybe you've just gotten your wires crossed. Talk to him."

"Yeah, yeah, okay," Angela agrees, nodding her head enthusiastically. "He _is _my guy and he's _so _great with Michael. He's a great dad."

I smile. "Glad you see my point."

Then _finally _I head for the platform.

Dr. Brennan is there, examining what she can. I can see she's itching to get the flesh off of it, but we've finally reached an understanding and she won't ask until I'm done. Besides, I can see she has something else on her mind.

"How are things going with you and Booth?" I ask, not really because I want to know, but because I know we're not going to get anything done until she's said her piece.

"Agent Booth is an insipid, stupid man and he can go to hell, since he believes in it."

"Going well then, I take it," I comment sarcastically. They'll get past this latest hurdle; lately "Agent Booth" has been insipid, stupid, annoying, idiotic, wonderful, helpful, decent and kind. And that's just this week. "If you want my advice, Dr. Brennan," which of course she does not, but I'm going to give it anyways, "give Booth this one. I know religion isn't your thing, but it's important to Booth. No one's asking you to give up your life and become a nun. No one's asking you to give up anything at all, really. And you can always tell your kid God is like Santa Claus." The last part is a joke, I swear.

"But Santa Claus isn't…. Oh, I see," she grins. "You were being facetious by comparing God to a similarly nonexistent entity. That's funny!"

"Yes, Dr. Brennan, that was exactly my intention."

I don't know why I keep trying sarcasm with her.

"So, you think I should… let Booth win?"

Poor Brennan. She really just does not have a clue. "Nobody's winning here, Dr. Brennan. You're raising a child, it's not really a competitive sport. I mean, until you get to college applications."

"I don't underst- oh, you were being facetious again. It's funny."

"Just think about it, Dr. Brennan. I've done all I can with everything but the skull. You can have the rest."

I've found that she generally does what I want her to if I leave her to her own decisions.

After that, I have to go and fight with the _awful _head of archeology in front of my bosses, because he _insists _that archeology should get more funding because they do important work over there. And that the funding should come from the Medico-Legal lab's. I'm not denying that they do important work, but I think bringing murderers to justice kind of trumps digging up buried cities. Don't you?

I check back in with my team after I convince my bosses that the prestige of having my team housed at the Jeffersonian is worth the cost. It's clear that we're not solving this murder today and I need to get home to Michelle. She was at a friend's last night, which freed me to see Paul, but since I didn't get to see her yesterday, I really would like to see her tonight.

"Dr. Saroyan?"

"Yes, Dr. Sweets?" I try to keep the annoyance out of my voice but I know I'm failing.

"Can I have a word?"

"You've already had several," I snap and that's just not fair. It's not his fault I've had a rough day. So I sigh. "We can talk in my office."

He's fidgeting, but he's Sweets and he's _always _fidgety.

"No one ever says thank you to you, do they?" he asks suddenly.

"I'm sorry?"

"You do a lot here, behind the scenes. But nobody ever pays attention to that and says thank you. You're undervalued. Do you ever feel that way?"

I look around; is this some kind of test? "Well, I hadn't really thought about it, until you brought it up…" I say warily.

"I think I'm being cuckolded."

Sweets is literally the only man I know (possibly the only man on this earth) who can use the word "cuckolded" and not sound like a complete tool.

"Okay, Sweets, you're gonna have to give me a little more to go on than that."

"It's Daisy," he admits. Sighs, really. And looks at me with that puppy dog face. I settle in; one more crisis to solve and really, you just don't say no to that face.

"Ms. Wick?"

"She's distant—cold. And whenever I bring up plans for the future she's noncommittal—not even the real future, but like what we're going to do this weekend. See, there's this concert this weekend that's supposed to be totally wicked and I scored tickets, so I wanted to take her, obviously."

"Dr. Sweets, I'm gonna need you to stay on point here. On a schedule."

"Right, right, sorry."

"You were saying?"

"She won't make any plans anymore and when she talks about the future at all, it's in the singular. _I'm _going to do this, _I _want to do that."

Unfortunately, I have no more insight into the life of Ms. Wick than I do into Clark's, and substantially less interest in it. "Look, Dr. Sweets, I don't know what to tell you here. I don't have a crystal ball or anything. But sometimes you just have to trust your instincts. If something is wrong, you probably know. Talk to Ms. Wick about it."

"But what if I'm wrong?"

"Then you're wrong and you apologize. But sometimes, Sweets, you just have to go with your gut."

He gives me that wry little smile. "You know, Dr. Brennan would point out that guts can't think at all."

"Yeah, well, Dr. Brennan is currently not speaking to her boyfriend over the existence of God, so…" Then I freeze. "I… wasn't supposed to tell you that."

"It'll be like I never heard," he says in some ridiculous voice, with some sort of goofy hand motion to add to the mystic atmosphere, I suppose. He looks absurd. He looks like Sweets.

I laugh. "Thank you, Dr. Sweets. Now, if you don't mind, I really would like to get out of here for the weekend."

"Oh, right, of course!"

"Goodbye, Dr. Sweets. And good luck."

He turns around in the doorway. "Thank you, Dr. Saroyan. For everything."

I sigh. Sappy as it is, that almost makes today worth it.

At least until there's a knock on the door while I'm packing up. I look up. It's Brennan.

"Booth said I should thank you. I don't really know why. But I told him I would. So thank you."

"You're speaking again, then?"

"I agreed to let him raise our child as a Catholic, as long as I don't have to go if I don't want. And I get to completely debunk the whole thing at a given time."

I blink. Dr. Brennan backing down on something this big? I blame the pregnancy hormones.

"So since there's a baptism, we need godparents. I asked Angela, but she laughed and said that godparents are supposed to be _good _influences. So Booth said that maybe we should ask you."

"Ask me?" I say slowly. "Ask me to… be your child's godmother?"

"Yes! You understand me perfectly!"

Not even with a Brennan-to-English dictionary.

But still, this is an honor. And a big deal to Seeley. It's kind of like Sweet's face—you just don't say no. "I'd… I'd be honored," I answer.

"Booth'll be thrilled," she tells me. "And I'm glad we're becoming friends at last."

I frown.

"Oh, I've said something wrong," she deduces. I'm impressed; she and Booth must be working really hard at this people person thing. "Booth says I do it quite frequently. He says that saying the right words and saying the wrong thing sometimes can be the same thing, which I don't understand. It's gibberish, of course."

"It's just… Dr. Brennan, I… I thought we were _already _friends."

"No," she replies. "Acquaintances, yes. Colleagues, certainly. I hold great respect for you, Dr. Saroyan."

I really did think we were already friends. I know she's clueless, I know she's socially awkward, but this still kind of hurts. It's not her fault though, not really, so I hide it and finish packing my things.

"I've said the wrong thing again," she sighs as I get to the door.

"Sometimes, Dr. Brennan," I tell her, "saying the right words and saying the wrong thing are exactly the same."

"I don't understand what you mean."

I'll give her this, she'll always admit what she doesn't know; it's more than most people will do.

"It means I thought we were friends, Dr. Brennan, but you didn't see it that way."

"No, I didn't." I turn to leave and start to walk away. "But I do now!" she calls after me. Then, in a quieter, sadder voice, she repeats, "I do now."

I stop; it's not her fault she's so good at saying the exact wrong thing. And it's really not her fault she's horrible at social interactions. And she _did _just ask me to be the godmother of her child. I turn back towards her. "Little tip, Dr. Brennan. Sometimes, you should just let people believe what they want."

"Does this mean we're friends?"

I laugh. "Yes, this means we're friends."

"Then maybe you shouldn't call me Dr. Brennan," she suggests. "Booth calls me Bones," she supplies helpfully, as if I could have missed that bit.

I can't help but chuckle. "Let's just start with Temperance, okay?"

"Okay."

"Bye, Cam."

"Oh, before I forget, next week, I was thinking of having a few people around for dinner. You and Booth are invited. Could you pass the message along to Angela and Hodgins?"

"Of course."

"Have a good weekend, Brennan."

"Temperance."

"We'll get there," I inform her as I go.

Traffic is a nightmare and it takes me forever to get home. Michelle is there and, from the smell of things, cooking pasta. I got lucky with that one.

"Smells delicious," I comment, coming into the kitchen.

"How was work?" she asks.

"Oh, you know," I say vaguely. "Just another day. Nothing special."

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><p><strong>I hope you enjoyed!<strong>

**-Juli-**


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